


The Anti-Life Equation: For Beginners

by candiedrobot



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, The Flash (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Aren't they the same thing really?, Gotham, Grief/Mourning, Hell, M/M, More Rats, Piper is accidentally a BAMF, Rats, The Anti-Life Equation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candiedrobot/pseuds/candiedrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding himself in Gotham after destroying Apokolips, Piper decides to use his second chance wisely. However, there are consequences for all that he has seen and done, and Hartley finds it difficult to cope. An unlikely anti-hero tries to help, and it turns out the anti-life equation is a little bit more complicated than anyone imagined. Jason Todd/Piper, eventual Trickster/Piper</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the after-effects of "Countdown to Final Crisis." There will be emotional trauma, Jason Todd, rats, and a resurrected James Jesse in later chapters. For now, a prologue. Enjoy!

 

> "I guess if I can take one thing away from this experience, It's that I've been given another chance. A chance to settle some unfinished business…
> 
> This time on the side of the angels."
> 
> -The Pied Piper, Countdown to Final Crisis #01
> 
>  
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

PROLOGUE

Gotham was a cold and unyielding city. That was an impression that was easy to come by, even on Hartley's first fitful night in a dark alleyway, nestled between an oil drum and a small tower of discarded boxes, and it was an impression, he was soon to find, that would be difficult to shake. Yes, he spent his first night in Gotham City sleeping in that alley. It was uncomfortable, littered with trash and empty beer bottles, and the night air rang of yowling cats and frantic police sirens, but he had endured much worse. He still stank of Apokolips, and if he concentrated, he could swear he still heard that snake, Desaad's betrayed screams and snarls, but then again- he seemed to have picked up a habit of hearing sounds and voices that were simply not there recently. "It's funny," he quipped to a rather large brown rat sitting by his knee, "that I should be here- alive- after all this." The rat wiggled his nose as if in understanding, and hopped up to settle comfortably on his leg, yawning wide and stretching his little arm. Hartley smiled and reached down to scratch the rat's shoulders. "It's good to see you too."

He supposed he should go and find a hotel, somewhere he could rent a nice quiet room, grab a bite to eat (or as much as he could manage anyway- he knew he was hungry, but the thought of food still made him nauseous. He wondered when the last time he ate real food was…) and shower until there was no hot water left. He smelled of smoke, and sweat, and another more pungent odour he was not yet ready to identify. But as another, shaggy looking rat, and then two more, and then three crawled up his shoulders or onto his lap, his willpower dissolved. And besides, it wasn't as if he could get that far anyways. Now that the adrenaline and the fury and the pure  _need for survival_ had worn off, he found that it was hard to so much as move his legs if he tried. So he stayed where he was, in a dank, filthy alley in the heart of the most sobering city in America, with nowhere to go and no one to go to, but surrounded by dozens of warm, furry bodies, all happily singing him a ratty lullaby; and he allowed himself to think, for the first time in a long time, that everything might finally be okay.


	2. Chapter One

> "Well, crazy's not my thing. And playing the sidekick again…never. If the last year has taught me anything, it's time to carve out a life of my own."
> 
> -Jason Todd, Countdown to Final Crisis #01
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

When Hartley awoke the next morning, everything was most certainly NOT okay. For starters, it was still dark. That in itself wasn't necessarily odd, as it could very easily still be night, and not morning at all, but something about the darkness seemed… weird. As Hartley's eyes began to adjust, he began to understand his unease. It was  _really_ dark. When he first arrived via boom-tube in the alley, it had certainly been night, but it was night in a big city. There were lights on in the buildings, and the great luminous bat-signal in the sky didn't hurt in brightening up the city-scape. Now, apparently, even the Batman had gone to bed. It was truly time for the city to sleep, and for a brief moment, Hartley felt as though he were back in the desert, where the only light came from the eyes of the scavengers, trying to decide if he was as dead as his companion. He had definitely felt like it.

As his eyes adjusted further, he was able to pick out another cause for his concern. There were two eyes, now, staring down at him, and they weren't the eyes of a coyote, or even one of his rats, who, now that he noticed, were more alert than he was, and watching warily, half hidden behind him. One of them hissed. No, these eyes were human, but they were odd, strangely shaped as if hidden behind a helmet… or a mask-

Crap.

Hartley surged to his feet, swaying dangerously as he reached for his flute, his friends watching warily to see what happened.

What happened involved this new cape (whether villain or hero, he had yet to determine) gripping him around the shoulders and steadying him, keeping him from falling over, as he realized he must certainly have been about to do so, judging from the black dots dancing across his vision and the wave of dizziness that continued to wash over him. "Easy man," a voice said from slightly above him. Male. But of course he could tell that now just by looking at the figure. Broad shoulders, a gleaming jacket that must have been leather and a red… helmet…

Crap. This was not good.

"Christ, you look like hell," the voice continued. Hartley gripped his flute tighter, ready in case he needed it. It didn't seem like an unlikely possibility. "Then again, you did visit Apokolips recently, so I guess that counts."

He started, tensing in the other's grip. He couldn't tell if that grip was supporting him or imprisoning him. Maybe both. "How did you-"

But the other cut him off. "Because I was there. Saw you being dragged off by that nutcase, Desaad. Sorry to leave you but I kind of had other fish to fry. Plus I didn't know if you were friend or foe." He paused to consider. "Still don't, really. I know you're wanted for  _murder,_ but I also know you didn't kill that kid, so there's that."

Piper took in a deep breath. Maybe there was still a chance of getting out of this without any bloodshed. Because he had heard of the Red Hood. Heard he was a little like Batman, but with guns. "How do you know I'm innocent?" He asked tentatively.

"Please," Red Hood snorted, "Look at you. Not to judge a book by its cover or anything, but you don't look guilty. Scared, sure, but not a murderer- and trust me, I know what a murderer looks like.  _I really do._  And you're not one of 'em. Also, to be fair, I know a thing or two about you Rogues. You're so gimmicky. Especially you and the Trickster. That game you have going with the Flash- it's more like hide and seek than  _cowboys and Indians._  Although I guess that's all changed now." He paused to consider the ragged and still dog-tired body he was half-supporting. "Besides," he continued, "you look like you could use a shower a helluva lot more than my  _wallet_ or world domination right now." Judging by the tone of his voice, he was probably grinning- not that his helmet gave anything away.

After a moment of silence, Hartley reluctantly agreed. "I really could." He couldn't help smiling too, though he felt a muscle twitch spasmodically in the corner of his mouth. It had been a while since he had really smiled, not since… well,  _not since James was alive._ That thought sobered him instantly, and he slumped a bit in Hood's arms, trying not to imagine that grinning face, the rush of train tracks passing them by as he endured joke after joke, trying to decide if he wanted more to punch that laughing face, or…

"Hey, I gotcha. Don't pass out on me now, man." The vigilante grabbed him more securely, hoisting him back to his feet and Hartley began to realize that he  _really did need to eat something before he died of starvation,_ and wouldn't that just be funny. Red Hood was helping him to the end of the alleyway, he noticed dimly. He tried his best to make his feet cooperate and pushed away from his… friend? Saviour? Captor? He didn't want to be in the Red Hood's debt.

"Thanks," he muttered, "but I can take it from here. I just need to get something to eat and I'll be out of your city."

The Hood didn't try to grab him again, but he did continue a short distance behind him, hands in his pockets, putting on an air of cool indifference though his words were anything but. "And go where? I hardly think your Rogue friends will take you back in, if you could even find them. Flash will probably kill you on sight, and god knows who else is still on your trail." Hartley gulped, thinking of Deadshot and blood on the tracks. A cold sweat had started to form on his brow. "You're in Gotham now, which means you're about a hopscotch and a sneeze away from being on Batman's radar, which, may I remind you, is not the place to be for a wanted  _murderer,_ " He remembered very acutely being strung upside down from a building and left for  _the Bat,_ that brief fleeting horror, and that haunting smirk as the Dark Knight judged Wally's rage to be worse than anything he could do to them… "So the way I see it, you've got to lay low and gather your resources. I can help you with that. I've got an apartment not far from here. It's not much, and it's not in  _my name,_ so don't bother snooping, but I'd be glad to offer it to you for a little while, to both of you, while you get your affairs in order. Where is the Trickster anyways? I thought the two of you were sticking together."

_'And here's a parting shot for you too, Pied Pooftah!'_

_'NO! Not him… Not NOW!'_

Piper winced as if the echoing gunshots in his mind had just sliced through him,  _like they were meant to._  He felt his knees wobble then give out, and the dull  _thud_ they made as they hit the concrete was slightly off-putting, but not as much as Deadshot's ringing laughter or the stench of smoking blood,  _or the ghost-like image of that slack-jawed, broken face-_ After all, scars do add character, they say, eh?

"Hey, whoa! What the hell, man-" He felt a warm dampness trickle down his cheeks, and Hood must have noticed too, because in an instant the man froze, and then grabbed him around the shoulders again, helping him to his feet. "Sorry I asked." His voice had dropped to something more somber. "Let's get you out of here. He wouldn't want the same thing to happen to you."

Hartley sighed, reaching up to wipe away the first tears shed for his fallen comrade. Red Hood had no idea how right he was.

After a short ride through the pre-dawn streets of Gotham on the back of the Hood's motorcycle, they arrived at a slightly run-down apartment complex. It didn't look like it was in the worst part of town, but it was certainly more disheveled than any building he could remember seeing in the Twin Cities. He was led up three or four flights of stairs, which he trudged up solemnly, his knees still shaking all the way, and waited while the Hood inserted a key into a door with a rusted number '18' hanging halfway off its plaque. Inside, the actual apartment didn't appear to be much bigger than the Rogue's hideout back in Keystone. There was a small living area, with an attached kitchenette and a breakfast bar dividing the two, and a tiny hallway with two doors; Hartley assumed they were to the bathroom and bedroom.

"It's not much, but it's better than an alley filled with rats."

Hartley didn't even have the energy to frown. "The rats are my friends."

Red Hood stared at him with the emotionless expression of his helmet. "You're a weird dude." Then he surprised him by reaching up and removing the helmet entirely, shaking his head to loosen his shiny black hair. Several shocked thoughts raced through Hartley's head, not the least of which was, ' _Man, he's cute.'_  He banished that one. Now was not the time. "Jason, by the way." He reached out a hand to shake Piper's, who hesitantly accepted, feeling the strength in that confident grip.

"Uh, Hartley…" he replied, unsure. "Why are you telling me this? Is that even-"

"My real name?" He shrugged. "Maybe. Have fun trying to figure it out, if you want. Just know that if you cause me any grief, I  _will_ turn you over to the police- or better yet,  _Flash._ I don't think you will, but better safe than conned. Not that you'd have much luck anyway. I think you have more important things to worry about."

Hartley swore he could feel a headache coming on. Of course, to be fair, it had never really left,  _not since he got slapped with a pair of shock cuffs and strapped in for the ride of his life._ And now it seemed that the ride wasn't even over. He was still wanted for a murder he didn't commit, and now, like Jason had said, he was sitting right under the nose of Batman, who was friends with the Flash  _like he used to be_  and who knew if Deadshot had picked up his trail, and… Hartley closed his eyes. The room was spinning again.

A hand on his shoulder brought him swiftly back to reality, and Jason gave him a worried look. "Listen man, you need to eat something. There's food in the fridge, so make yourself whatever you want. Take a shower, towels are in the hall closet, and there's clean clothes in the dresser in the bedroom. Do all that and then grab yourself a beer and try to relax. Take a nap or something. I've got to go run a few errands- talk to a couple people, figure out what your situation is." He must have noticed Piper flinch, because he continued on, " _Relax._  I know how to do what I do. I'm not going to leak your location, and I'm not going to turn you over. If it makes you feel any better, you can hang on to that." He tossed his red helmet over to Hartley, who caught it on instinct, confused. "That's a guarantee I'll be back, so make sure you're here when I do. Don't think for a minute you're capable of hoofing it on your own. You'll be eaten alive out there."

Piper immediately had to swallow back the images of vultures swooping out of the sky, risking a tangle with him,  _whom they'd already written off,_ to get to James. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Jason nodded in return and twirled his keys in his hand and turned for the door. "Remember. Food. Shower. Beer. Relax. I'll be back." And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Piper turned towards the kitchen just as his stomache rumbled. He felt a rustle in his cape and turned to see two beady eyes peek out over his shoulder, and a whiskered nose twitch speculatively. He smiled. "Well, let's see what we can find to eat, huh buddy?" The rat chittered his approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not going to lie, a couple of years ago, I had a pair of rats named Jason and Piper. Jason, unfortunately, passed away in 2012, and it broke my heart and also made me wonder why naming a rat after JASON TODD was ever a good idea. Not that James, the other option, would have been any better. Nonetheless, Piper, though fighting scarred lungs and two tumours, is still with me, and provides me with endless inspiration for Hartley's furry little friends in this story. I'll tell you right now, I am an avid fan of rats. They are so affectionate, so smart and just generally the most amazing animals ever, in my opinion, that they will feature quite heavily in this story. Not just for Hartley's sake, but for my own. <3
> 
> And now you know.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some vague and a few not-so vague references to torture, both physical and mental. Nothing particularly graphic, but if that kind of thing bothers you, consider yourself warned. Please note the "Hell," tag above.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say that only in writing Pipster fanfiction does one find watching Looney Tunes to be "research." Cheers.
> 
> Oh ho, I wonder who this chapter could be about? ;)

> "Lie to a liar, for lies are his coin; Steal from a thief, for that is easy; lay a trap for a trickster and catch him at first attempt, but beware of an honest man"
> 
> -Proverb
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

"Ahhh… Ah jeez!" a huff of breath. "…Look what he did …" Another. "…to your  **face**!" The next breath was shakier. Desperate. "Still…  **Scars do add character, they say, eh?** " The Pied Piper tried again to breathe, failed, and chuckled- a mad sort of sound that reminded  _him_  of someone he saw Joker-gassed once- a desperately pained laugh that shouldn't exist, that had  _no right_ to exist, but that couldn't be supported or held back. It just sort of floated there, amid breaths that became increasingly difficult to take between the  _panic,_ and the  _helplessness,_ and the  ** _pain._** "Now let's get up and find the-" another gasping bid for air- "the  **genius** who invented these  **cuffs…** Do the…" gasp "same to…"

"To…"

"…"

James jolted awake, shuddering with the aftershocks of his (dream? vision? torture?), it was getting hard to separate the three these days.

Wait.

Days?

Had it only been days since he'd arrived here? Here…

He'd been to Hell before, but never had he experienced such an unpleasant stay.

James laughed. It was a broken sound.

Then again, it was hard to laugh around the blood in his throat.

He considered. He remembered arriving at Hell's gates, chained up like Satan's birthday present with a great big ' **SOLD** ' sign on his forehead. He remembered Neron's delighted grin, the sinking feeling in his stomache, the fleeting hope of striking a bargain- Neron did love a good bargain- and the crushing reality that his old enemy favoured payback this time, and wasn't ready to be tricked by the Trickster  ** _three_** times in a row.

But how long ago was that?

A day?

A month?

_An hour?_

It was difficult to tell anything in Hell. James wondered if Time even existed here. This was Neron's realm, after all. Heck, the air could probably be made of  _bubblegum_ if Neron wanted it to be.

But it wasn't. It was made of fire, and darkness, and stereotypes and James was trying  _not to lose his mind._

He couldn't tell if it was working. He kept imagining Sylvester the Cat staring frightfully at that  _fiery pit of bulldogs,_ and laughing out loud, sometimes while… otherwise engaged. He wondered if this was how the Joker felt.

Hopefully Piper managed to escape this. Then again, Hartley had never made an enemy quite as  _hellish_ as James had. He wondered if Hart was even still on the run.

_'_ _**What** _ _did you call m—'_

_'NO! Not him… Not NOW!'_

Damn. Maybe he was doomed to relive those last moments over and  _over and over and-_ He wished Neron would just pick a torture and stick with it. All this variety was givin' him a _headache-_

_A fire of shots, the smell of smoke and BAM!_ _ **BUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDA**_ _right in the center of his head, as if his brain exploded-_ and he guessed it had.

And that bastard Deadshot couldn't have picked a worse time, could he? Right when he was about to-  _to what, exactly?_   _Come out of the closet? Go in for a silver-screen smooch? Profess his undying lo-_ Stop right there, James. Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?

It just provided another viable mode of torture for the great and douchey  _Neron,_ who liked to entice him with visions and images of what the outcome of that little train ride might have been, if it hadn't been  _cut short,_ some domestic, some pornographic, and some so cruel in their representation of Hartley's rejection, they were almost worse than the physical tortures Neron was equally fond of.  _Almost._

There was a sudden charge to the air, an almost electric feeling that reminded Trickster of the static electricity that followed in the wake of the Flash on a warm day of screwing around and having a laugh with ole' Flashy Pants- only this made a chill rush through his body, his hair stand on end.

_Speak of the Devil and he doth appear._

"What do we have on the agenda today, Giovanni?" James flinched. He hated being called by his birth name, but if that was all he had to endure today, he would count his blessings.

_"That was for what YOU did to Trickster, you sick son of a bitch!"_

"How about letting me go?" He meant it to sound light and playful, but his voice came out a thick rasp, his lungs and vocal chords having refused to cooperate long ago. (Maybe? It seemed like long ago, anyways.)

Neron chuckled, a noise that sounded like flame and darkness and hate. "Now you know I don't want to do that,  _little Trickster._ I knew you would be sent my way someday and _I've been waiting for you._  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…? It's something that hasn't been done before, and I think I owe you a little  _friendly reminder_ of that fact." He sneered. "But you already know that. And yet you continue to ask, every time I come to say hello. Why is that?"

_"This is my Swan Song, trickster. What shall I play?"_

_'Because it's all I have left,"_ James thought, ' _All I can do is keep trying, keep going. I can't let myself lose sight of who I was- who I_ _ **am.**_ _I can't let him- or this place- beat me._ _ **The show must go on.'**_

_"I stand on a lonely stage, with a single spotlight…"_

"Nothing to say," Neron goaded, reaching for the Trickster with one great gnarled claw. "Good. Save your voice, Giovanni. You'll need it to scream."

_"Another hero, another mindless crime."_

James closed his eyes. He found it easier to deal with the pain if he couldn't see what was happening. It was like walking on the tightrope all those years ago. Don't look down. Don't look down. Be strong.

But after waiting on bated breath for the worst, nothing happened. Not a scratch, not a tickle, not a poke. He opened one eye cautiously; afraid he was walking into a trap, so to speak, but upon glimpsing his captor, opened both eyes wide in surprise. Neron was frozen, hand mid-air, outstretched claw just inches from his left eye, and a look of paralyzed confusion plastered on his face. James blinked.

_"Behind the curtain, in the pantomime…"_

He heard a faint tune, as if a flute or a clarinet were playing Queen. But that couldn't be right. Neither flutes nor Queen existed in Hell. "Uhh, Neron?" he was afraid to move , lest the devil break out of his trance or fall over, claw first, in his direction. "Can you… kind of back up a bit?" It was just a joke, his defense mechanism, but then Neron  _actually did it._ He took about three steps back and lowered his arm, still looking completely puzzled, but obeying Trickster's command.

_Obeying my command._

_"Outside the dawn is breaking…"_

Perhaps the Trickster wasn't completely out of Tricks after all.

"Hey Neron," he tried to get a good steady breathing pattern going.  _This- whatever it was- might be his ticket out of here. "_ How about a deal?" Neron narrowed his eyebrows but nodded slowly, once.  _Glory be to anything and everything that wasn't Neron!_ "You let me go, and in return, you can kiss my ass."  _If that wasn't testing the waters…_ A thought occurred to him. "Uh, figuratively, of course." He held his breath for a response. If Neron was just fucking with him… But he would never agree to a deal without the intent to actually follow through! Neron nodded again, as if being pulled by some invisible string.

_"—but inside in the dark—"_

James wasn't entirely sure. He might have actually whooped. The chains holding him up suddenly disappeared, dropping his body, nearly useless, to the floor. He hadn't even realized there was a floor. It all just looked like darkness and  _this was actually working!_ He had to do this right. "And make sure all my body's wounds are healed! And everything's working right and I'm not a fucking zombie!" Neron nodded. James couldn't move from a combination of agony and numbness, but he twisted his face into the biggest grin of his life (or death). "And make sure Piper's alive! And… and you know what? Throw in some metahuman flight while you're at it. I want to fly through the air  _with the greatest of ease…"_ Neron seemed about ready to bite off his tongue with rage but he couldn't help nodding. "Oh," James continued, voice dropping suddenly to something serious and chilling, "and one last thing. I never want to see your ugly face again. Don't come looking for me. Leave me and my friends alone. I want your word that you won't drag me back here the moment  _whatever this is_ stops working, and then I want you to send me back. …Agreed?"

Neron opened his mouth almost mechanically and ground out the single word, between tense notes of anger, " ** _Agreed."_** And then he reached to the side and extinguished a single candle between two of his great clawed fingers, and James Jesse's world went dark.

_"—I'm aching to be free!"_

The Trickster was gone, and all the fires of Hell raged in Neron's eyes.


End file.
